


Flower Theft

by Caffeine_Chaos243



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Character Death Outside of Castiel or Dean Winchester, Dead Sam, Dead Sam Winchester, Depressed Dean, Depressed Dean Winchester, Doctor Castiel, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, Lonely Dean, M/M, Old Castiel, Old Dean, POV Dean Winchester, Platonic Relationships, Supportive Castiel, not romantic - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-23
Updated: 2017-09-23
Packaged: 2019-01-04 12:05:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,492
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12168546
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Caffeine_Chaos243/pseuds/Caffeine_Chaos243
Summary: Dean has lived a longer life than he thought he would. He struggles with the recent death of his little brother. Every morning around the time of Sam's death he makes a walk to the cemetery, stopping to steal flowers from the neighbor's yard. That is, until the neighbor catches him and demands to tag along.





	Flower Theft

**Author's Note:**

> This was inspired by a tumblr prompt

                Dean sighed into the cool night air. His porch light had gone out again and he was worried that his old house needed new electrical work done. He sat back on the porch swing with a grunt. His back ached and he cursed himself for all the years he spent sleeping on shitty hotel mattresses. He took another drink from the beer in his hand and made a face. _This brand isn’t as good as it used to be._ He watched idly as the horizon slowly swallowed the inky darkness of night.

                It had been two weeks already. _How had that passed so quickly, but so slowly at the same time?_ Dean sighed as his drink ran out. He looked out across his yard and tried to talk himself into standing. It would be sunrise soon, he needed to get going. His knee ached from an old injury. Hell half of him ached from old injuries. That's part of the reason he had decided to stop chasing monsters.  He set his empty drink on the worn wooden railing at his side and stood with a grunt of effort. He was too damn old for this.  

                His boots crunched on the gravel as he stepped onto road from the too-long grass of his yard. He started walking, knowing that driving would be quicker but sometimes, when his old body wasn’t failing him, it felt good to walk. Plus he needed the time to think. It had been the same routine every night and morning for the last fifteen days. He took his time and strolled past the fields of dancing wildflowers as the sun painted the sky pale pink and blue. He was slightly disappointed the sunrise wasn’t as beautiful as it had been the day before.

                He walked down the long road. By the time he reached the only neighboring house within ten miles, the sun was peaking over the far trees to his right. He noticed the yellow house still hadn’t been repainted. It had sat unkempt for months, since the last owners died. He wondered if anyone would repaint his home after he died. With a shrug to himself he looked back at the aged yellow paint. He knew someone lived in the house, he just hadn’t met them.

                He peered around the still yard and stepped over the piece of fence he had accidently broken thirteen days before. There were gorgeous roses, daffodils, hyacinths, and various other flowers growing in front of the long porch. This was how he knew someone lived there. The flowers were so well maintained. Their beautiful splash of color had caught his eye after the accident, when his world had appeared bleak and dreary. He hadn’t meant to break the fence. He had stopped to catch his breath and stare at the flowers. How should he have known the split rail would break when he leaned on it?

                Dean pulled a worn pocket knife from his jeans pocket as he neared the flower beds. He opened the blade and reached into the rose bush to cut the brightest rose. He was about through the stem when a gruff voice called out from the porch above him.

                “Those are mine.”

                Dean jumped back, startled. He looked up to find a man glaring down at him. A heavy frown made his brow intensely liney as he stared at Dean. His dark hair was more grey than black, especially above his ears. Dean stared at him, not sure what to say. It was then the man’s eyes shifted and Dean looked down, following his line of sight.

                Dean’s hand was steadily dripping blood from where he had cut himself. He hadn’t even noticed. He heard a _tsk_ from the porch before the boards creaked. Seconds later the man appeared beside him, leaning heavily on a cane. He motioned for Dean’s hand.

                “I’m a doctor. Let me see it.” He said in a gravelly voice. Wordlessly, Dean set his hand in the man’s.

                “This is really deep. I think you need stitches.”

                “Sorry.” He offered lamely. His voice cracked after days of not speaking. The man looked up at him and Dean found himself captivated by the mottled blue eyes that were scrutinizing him. They seemed so young on such a heavily age-lined face.

                “You’ve been stealing my flowers for weeks.” He stated and Dean just nodded, not feeling the need to correct him. It had only been 13 days. The man narrowed his eyes at Dean. “Why?”

                Dean bit back the words he wanted to say and simply replied, “For someone.”

                The man’s eyebrows shot up. “I should have figured. A good looking man like you would be doing his damnedest to impress a woman.”

                Dean opened his mouth to counter the remark, but it was so odd that he closed his mouth again and just frowned in confusion. The man pulled a bandana from his back pocket and wound it around Dean’s hand.

                “I will stitch you up. I can drive you to the hospital in town.”

                “I can’t.” Dean said as he suddenly yanked his hand back. The man looked up, startled.

                “I- I mean I can’t go anywhere. I need to take the flowers. If that’s okay.” He looked away from the intense gaze that was fixated on his face.

                “I suppose. But I’m coming with you.” He nodded and motioned to the rose bush. Dean looked back at him with a furrowed brow.

                “Get your flower and let’s go see the woman that’s pretty enough to warrant flower theft.” The man said before he started walking towards the road.  Dean stared dumbly after him. _What was up with this guy?_

                Dean reached back into the bush and brought out the rose. He turned and walked after the man, wanting to call out but realizing he hadn’t asked his name.

 

                Once he caught up he noticed the man casting sideways glances his way. After they made it to the first turn of the road, about 300 yards from the yellow house Dean turned to him, catching his blue gaze.

                “I’m Dean.”

                “Castiel.”

 Dean nodded and focused on his feet as they continued onward. It was another ten minutes, at least, before either man spoke.

                “I didn’t realize there were any other houses down this way. I only ever drive from the hospital to home.”

                “There aren’t. Just pasture and wheat fields.” Dean said, annoyed his voice cracked again. _How was he supposed to explain where he was going?_ He glanced at the doctor, who was staring around them. _He will have to see for himself._

                It was another few minutes before the old copse of tall, thick trees were visible. Long pine branches crossed each other and formed a tight barrier between what lay inside and the bright early morning sky and open fields. This road ended at them. Dean had wondered why since he was eight and first discovered the small area.  The trees had been planted in a rectangular pattern, the short side facing the road.   _Probably to protect those inside_.

                  Castiel looked around with a calculating expression. Dean paused outside of the wrought iron gate that was surrounded by dense trees. You couldn’t see past the gate, the walkway inside was too dark. It wasn’t until you got partway in that the trees lessened and light was allowed in.  He had never brought another human here. _Would it be awkward to make him wait?_  He stared over at Castiel with a frown.

                “This seems ominous, Dean.” Castiel joked. Dean knew it was a joke but he couldn’t bring himself to react. His brow furrowed deeper and he gripped the rose, knowing the thorny stem was stabbing his palm but he didn’t actually feel it. He pushed open the gate and stepped into the shadowed meadow.

                He felt Castiel follow closely behind. The gate squeaked shut behind the other man. Dean followed the path, trusting the crunch of gravel beneath him to keep him on it until his eyes adjusted. He could see the light filtering through ahead. When Castiel spoke, it seemed too loud in the constant stillness of the cemetery.

                Dean walked headed for the area on the border of shadow and sunlight. It was immediately warmer with the sun shining down. He stepped off of the path and looked at the fresh turned dirt over the long grave.

                “Dean, I didn’t realize.” Castiel said softly. “I’m sorry.”

                “He went through so much.” Dean said quietly as he knelt and placed the rose on his little brother’s grave. The headstone still wasn’t finished. He was assured it would have been by now. “He always had my back. I had his. It was my job to protect him and I finally failed.” Dean’s voice cracked yet again, though this time from emotion.

                “I’m sorry Dean.” Castiel’s voice seemed so far away to Dean. He nodded and stood. He took a steadying breath.

                “I’m his big brother. I’m supposed to go first. He went through so much. Only to be taken out by a heart attack? He was the healthy one. It should have been me.”

                “What is his name?” Castiel asked softly. Dean sighed.

                “Sam Winchester. The mighty Sam Winchester. Everyone knew his name.”

                “Oh.” The sudden intake in Castiel’s breath made Dean turn to him. He was staring at Dean with a frown, his head cocked to the side.

                “What.”

                “I was the surgeon that tried to save him. I tried so hard, Dean. I tried. He flatlined for too long and I called it.  I was rushed off for another case. I’m so sorry. I should have stopped to speak with you.”

                “I was told nothing could have been done for such a major heart attack.” Dean replied with a slight shake of his head.

                “I tried.” Castiel said softly. He reached up and scrubbed at his eyes as he looked away.

                “Thank you.” Dean replied. He turned on his heel and started out of the forgotten cemetery. There were at least two dozen stones and graves, but he had never been able to find a history on the people there.

                They stepped past the wrought iron gate and Dean winced at the harsh squeaking. He made sure it was shut firmly before starting towards home. Castiel remained silent the entire walk back.

                When they reached the yellow house, Dean paused slightly when a hand appeared on his arm. He turned to Castiel. Even when his expression was soft, his face was full of lines. _He can’t be that much older than me. Why does he look 80 instead of 60?_

 “I need to stitch you up still.” The doctor said as he removed his hand. Dean nodded and followed him into the house.

                “I thought you needed to take me to town.”

                “I have the things here.” Castiel clarified. Dean just nodded and followed him to the kitchen.

               

                When Dean was done he thanked the doctor. Castiel nodded and stared at him with a look Dean couldn’t decipher. As Dean made to leave, Castiel cleared his throat.

                “I know it won’t make a difference, and you’re still grieving, but if you want to have coffee in the morning I am usually awake around 4:30. When I’m home at least.  Oh and you can take as many flowers as you need. I won’t yell at you again.”

                Dean stared at him. “Are you offering because you feel guilty?”

                “Yes. And no. I don’t know. I just don’t like the idea of you suffering in grief alone. I’ve been there before.” 

                “You lost someone?” Dean asked, shifting uncomfortably in the doorway.

                Castiel’s whispered response was barely audible as he stared at the floor. “Everyone.”

                Dean nodded slightly, not having the words to express the numbness he felt. He mumbled “thanks” before he turned and left the yellow house.

 

                The next morning, the sunrise was mostly purples and oranges and beautiful. Dean made his walk to Castiel’s house. No one was visible so he picked his flower. The stroll to the cemetery was slow, his knee was really acting up. He braced himself for the abrasive squeaking as he pulled on the gate, but it swung open smoothly. He stared at it before opening and closing it a few times.

                He turned slowly and looked back down the road he had come. He couldn’t see the house from , but Castiel’s offer of coffee fluttered through his mind. He blinked a few times then turned and strode to Sam’s grave.

                A large white lily was lying across the grave beside the other flowers. Dean blinked rapidly to fight the tears that suddenly blurred his vision. _No one even asks after him since the funeral. No one has come by. No one cared. Why does this damn doctor give a shit._

                Dean wiped his face. He didn’t like talking to Sam. He wasn’t really there. He nodded at the grave and cleared his throat before turning on his heel. He walked to the yellow house with his jaw set. He skipped every other step as he climbed the stairs then knocked firmly on the front door. He could hear the doctor approach through the door.

                “Hello Dean.” Castiel said softly as he cracked the door open. Dean started to speak but Castiel opened the door widely and pushed a mug into Dean’s hands. Dean fumbled with it for a moment before stepping back to allow the doctor out. Castiel went to sit on the steps and stretched out his lame leg. Dean turned and after a moment sank onto the creaky stair beside him.

                “Thank you.” Dean said after taking a sip of the coffee.

                “I wanted to do something.”

                “It means a lot to me.”

                Castiel looked over at him with a slight nod. “I know.”

                Dean felt his mouth lift in a small smile. “You know.”

                They sat in silence and watched as the sun climbed into the sky.  Dean’s coffee ran out sooner than Castiel’s. He didn’t want to ask for more. He didn’t want to lose the feeling of solidarity and companionship. He realized he hadn’t been around a single other human in weeks. Let alone one that understood his pain. He looked over at the doctor who smiled at a sparrow that was dive bombing a hawk. _He can smile and enjoy life. I’ll get there, right?_

                By the time Dean’s aching bones began to yell at him for sitting still so long,  it was midmorning. He stood with a pained groan and worked his leg so his knee unlocked. Castiel looked up at him with bright eyes and took Dean’s cup. Dean looked around the yard before settling his gaze back on the doctor.

                “I’ll see you tomorrow?” He asked softly. Castiel smiled a toothy grin and nodded.

                “In the morning.” He said. Dean nodded and turned away with the knowledge that maybe he wasn’t alone.

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave a review!
> 
> I just want to clarify that I never intended for this to be romantic relationship between the two of them. Castiel just becomes a friend for Dean. :)


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